Encounter
by Cat Alex
Summary: Why do we think we can change men? She should have known even back then it was impossible to change men like Curtis Blackburn and Dan Smith. ON HIATUS.
1. Everard

**Encounter**

**By Cat Alex**

**AN:** Originally this was the first chapter of a longer AU-ish fic I'm in the process of writing, but this can stand alone, as it's a prologue of sorts. This is set around 1971. The Killer7 timeline is very skew-whiff, so I had to make a judgement call, placing Curtis' birthday in 1942. Hand in Killer7 is a great read, but so all over the place time-wise. I cannot even describe what was going on in my head when this came out. Probably something depraved and dark like Curtis Blackburn. Enjoy.

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><p>Why do we think we can change men? I was young and foolish then, but I should have known even back then it was impossible to change a man like Curtis Blackburn. He radiated danger so naturally I was like a moth to the flame. He was eleven years older than me – twenty-nine when we met – with a steely gaze, frankly bizarre dress sense offset with a pair of pistols he kept with him at all times.<p>

He had come to the party to assassinate someone. That much I learned during our first fuck. I found the body on a drunken trip upstairs and a wrong turn into the study. I never knew who the poor bastard was. Probably at college like me. What could he have done to warrant Curtis Blackburn on his tail?

It was strange, seeing a dead body. I'd never seen one before. He looked… I don't know. He was almost peaceful, I suppose. Unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling, a trickle of drying blood at the side of his mouth. I never got a good look at how he was killed. No-one at the party heard gunshots. I was surprised at how calm I was. Perhaps the alcohol had dulled things down a bit. I stepped forward to get a better look, but I didn't scream or gasp when I confirmed the worst. I didn't jump until I heard the door click behind me and the horrible realisation I wasn't alone kicked in.

"What are you going to do about this?" a voice softly asked. He always spoke in an almost challenging tone, ready to fight. But I had no desire to fight anyone, let alone die to get the truth out. I was more intrigued by the man's killer emerging from the shadows. I remembered briefly seeing him earlier in the crowd of people – he must have caught everyone's eye at some point with those clothes and looks. Grim grey eyes, a handsome face, thick brown hair I wanted to bury my hands in and a set of broad shoulders I was sure men would kill for.

I felt like I was in a dream. Alcohol, shock, a delayed reaction, survival instinct – I never could put a name to it. Right then I focused on the problem at hand – the man in front of the door who intrigued me.

"I'm Lindsay," I found myself saying, steadily watching him. He remained still. I spied the holster for his pistols and wondered if I was going to be shot.

"Your name doesn't matter," he replied, "What does is what you plan to do about this."

"My plan is 'nothing'. I don't know that man and I don't know you. However…" I paused, not taking my eyes off him, "I wouldn't mind getting to know you better."

He couldn't hide his smirk at that. I think he'd been preparing to kill me before then; waiting for the misstep to launch himself. But I presented a better option right then and murder faded away in favour of moving closer and tearing my dress off. He's always been a brutal man, even in bed. He rarely thinks of anyone beyond himself, but that suited me fine at that moment. The thought of him taking me hard right there was too arousing to pass up. He remained armed the whole time, though he could have killed me easily with his bare hands. He didn't remove his black gloves, even while fingering me, and only undid his pants to get his dick out, each rough thrust pressing the zipper into my thigh. It only made the sex even more primal. It was against the wall by the door he'd shut on me. He did not kiss me, but he did nip and bite here and there, growling occasionally when pushing me to the wall.

I wondered many times what brought the two of us together. I cannot say I was a virgin then, but I was by no means in the habit of fucking strangers. My previous boyfriend (not that Curtis was ever my successive boyfriend) was a boring, middle of the road kind of guy. He was nice and safe and my parents loved him. We had practically promised ourselves to each other when we did it the first time. He was gentle and careful, nervous about hurting me. But I wasn't made of glass and I wanted more; more than he could handle. Curtis was not a good choice after him; he was too much for me, I'd swung too far the other way. Humdrum to psycho. Good going, Lindsay. From the brief amount of time I spent with Curtis, I got the impression he wasn't in the habit of fucking people on the job. I told myself down the line it was fate assigning me a purpose – to help this man. But like I said in the beginning – you can't change others. Not unless they want to change themselves, and Curtis has always wanted to kill and does so without remorse. Standing in his way is a quick way to getting yourself killed.

Afterwards he gripped my chin, expression indecipherable. I was still in a haze of blissful nothingness, sore and pleased as hell.

"What's your full name?" he asked.

"Lindsay Emma Beckett," I managed to mumble and he leaned closer, rubbing his nose against my cheek in a weirdly possessive manner.

"I can find you whenever I want now, Lindsay Emma Beckett," he whispered in my ear. To say it sounded sinister would have been an understatement, but I was too turned on by this new and exciting element of danger. He was too good to run from.

He slipped a gloved finger back in, making me buckle against the wall. The smirk returned and he slowly removed it.

"I'm Curtis Blackburn, assassin. You will never find me unless I want you too. I'll see you around, Lindsay Emma Beckett." He seemed to savour saying my full name, putting a creepy spin on it. He left, shutting the door behind him. I slid to the ground, a mess, my torn clothes strewn on the floor, a dead body not even six feet away. It dawned on my then that I had willingly stepped into a very dark world I probably wasn't going to be able to walk away from easily.

Several weeks passed without incident. The victim of Curtis' assassination came from a rich family with connections to all kinds of darker elements. I suppose his death was a threat from said elements; I never asked. Things were much easier when I didn't ask too many questions. And I didn't really want to know about his victims; it tarnished his dangerous air to something scarier and darker than I could stand. It was far better to keep the idea of an audacious man in mind than a bloodthirsty one. I was going through college and the boys there were just that: boys. Curtis was a man, and one who knew what he wanted. I was flattered that one of the things he wanted was me. Perhaps finding people to fuck in the assassination business was rare, I don't know, but I was available and I didn't tell anyone about him or what he'd done, which suited him to the ground. I was an available and reliable person to fuck. And not knowing tons about him kept the mystique up, which made the sex better. I don't know how much he delved into me and my past, but I don't think he really cared. Every so often he'd turn up and we'd fuck. Talking was kept to a minimum and Curtis never hung around afterwards. Things suited us just fine as they were; he had an outlet in me and I got a damn good fucking most girls would be too scared of and some probably dreamed about anyway.

But then the day came when everything began to pick up and fall apart at once. I had emerged from the doctor's white as a sheet in a state of shock. I sat in my room and didn't go to lectures for several days trying to work out what I should do. In the end I resolved to keep my baby, telling myself I could still get through college. My main problem was how to approach Curtis; whether to even tell him at all. We didn't love each other and we weren't in a stable relationship. But I knew it was impossible to run from him; he really could find me whenever he wanted to. If I ran, he'd get suspicious, and if he got suspicious, I got dead.

Eventually I decided to tell him just so I knew where we stood. I was fine raising the baby alone. When Curtis came by next, I had to stop him from simply taking me as usual with hardly a sentence exchanged between us. He face went from impassive to furious in a second. He pushed me to the bed, whipping one of his pistols out and pressing it to my forehead. I didn't even have time to be afraid, expecting him to pull the trigger and that be that. But everything froze; I was too terrified to move in case it prompted him to change his mind and he stayed straddling me, eyes blazing.

"This is my baby?" he growled and I silently nodded. The gun didn't move. My eyes were wide and watering, overflowing down the sides of my face. I couldn't shift my gaze from Curtis looming above me, now considering the implications of what had gone on between us. It was probably only minutes, but for me it was a stretch of eternity.

"A legacy; that's what this child shall be," he eventually decided, removing the gun and holstering it. I suddenly noticed how rigid my body was and relaxed, sinking into the bed and finally closing my eyes. I felt his weight shift off me and then he grabbed my wrist, hauling me to my feet.

"You will stay with me, Lindsay," he said. I could barely stand my legs were so shaky. He got me to pack what I needed and bundled me into a car. It turned out he lived on the outskirts of Seattle in a large fancy looking house. I couldn't believe he lived so close to me. It suddenly made him seem that much weirder, though I couldn't say why. He politely showed me around, making a point of places that were off limits.

It was this time in the thing you could loosely call our relationship where I began to question him and put faith in changing his ways for the better. An astounding misjudgement on my part, though I don't regret any of it. I knew there was going to be damage from being tangled up with a person like Curtis Blackburn.

When he was at his house (which wasn't as often as I would have liked) we shared the same bed and we still fucked. And it was as good as ever. He always domineered me, but it became obvious I like to be dominated, in bed at least. The things you learn about yourself in unexpected places. Outside of the bedroom were far more awkward experiences. I wanted to know more. I figured I was in it for the long haul now I was at his house and growing bigger by the month. He answered most of my questions, though was clearly disgruntled by it. It turned out he worked for the government, which kind of shocked me. A government employed assassin. He visibly brightened when he discussed previous kills. In a sick way, I liked to hear them. He became animated and told them well. It was nice to see him like that, even if the topic was grim. Those instances were rare, though; he was always restless in my presence if we weren't fucking. I tried to break the uncomfortable atmosphere by talking. I asked him once why the government got him to kill. He snorted.

"Because I liked it and was good at it. Naturally they keep the best killers as their own as long as they stay in line. And I am happy to be paid for it and stay out of prison. It couldn't be a better partnership."

I didn't need to know much after that. Anything I gleaned about him came from his behaviour and surroundings. His house was large and simply designed with tasteful pieces here and there. It was clear he enjoyed collecting expensive things, so I surmised he probably was not always this well off. And despite being an assassin, he needed attention. His clothes, the way he forced me to look at him when we had sex – he needed attention and things to be within his control. He didn't need to control everything, but as long as he knew he could swiftly do so if he chose satisfied him. I was an uncomfortable element in his life, but one that could be directed if he wanted.

The baby fascinated him. As I grew bigger, my stomach drew his attention at times. I'd sit on the sofa, allowing him to run his hands over my stomach. He seemed to like the idea of passing down his skills and blood to another. I tentatively discussed names with him and he told me the child would be a Blackburn no matter what. He said he wanted the baby to have a name representing strength. I couldn't argue with him; the feeling that changing him was not going to be as easy as books and films would have me believe.

I still had the sensation of that pistol against my forehead. It never quite went away, as if I already knew what the future held for me. I'd find myself rubbing the spot, expecting to find the gun still there.

He'd told me we would not go to the hospital, which wasn't uncommon back then. Perhaps even a blessing, I suppose. I asked if he'd be present and he told me he would because he was intrigued and I'd have no-one else. I found his interest in the birth encouraging. We both read through books on home deliveries and what we'd need. It kept my mind off darker topics, such as the fact I was making little headway with Curtis. He didn't let me close enough to even hope to change him, but teased me with his indulgences. It would have been better if he kept me at arms length, but he seemed to crave contact as much as I did.

He was the kind of person who liked to be multi disciplined. I saw him cook as well as he could kill, as he could play cards, as he could play the piano. It was unnerving how smart he was. No, that he wasted his intelligence. He liked to kill more than anything despite being just as good at other things. He didn't need to be an assassin; he had chosen it. And I think that made him scarier than anything. It meant killing wasn't his hand being forced; it was savoured, a sport. It was more intrinsic to him than I could have ever suspected when we first met. I'd got in deep and there was no escape. I just prayed my child would help maintain my safety until I could take us somewhere far away. I knew there was no life with Curtis.

Before I knew it I had hit nine months and had gone into labour. Curtis luckily hadn't gone off on another job and stayed like he promised, helping me through the birth. It was irritating how natural he turned his hand to things. He was unflappable during the birth, while I was a panicked mess in the beginning. But he calmed me down and talked me through it, getting me to push where appropriate. His voice was like honey.

The labour was a haze of various painkillers Curtis had got a hold of, his voice and pushing. And suddenly it cleared when I heard the first cries of my baby. Curtis smoothly cut the umbilical cord and removed the baby, checking it over and cleaning it off.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" I hoarsely asked and Curtis turned around, baby tucked close to his chest.

"It's a girl."

And he pulled out one of his pistols.

That cold metal against my head again. I should have known this day would come. He stood, gun against my forehead in one hand and my baby I'd never get to hold or name in the other. I was too exhausted to scream or cry or even be afraid.

"You know too much," was all he said.

And that was the last thing I recall.


	2. Assassidad

**Chapter 2: Assassidad**

It came from the fact when Curtis' daughter, Everard, was small she couldn't say 'Assassin'. Too many 's' sounds confusing her kid mouth. Most children got it with how many 'nana's' in banana, but she had an assassin for a dad, so this was that hurdle instead. Everard used to say, "Assassassass…_dad!_" to the point her father started saying to her he was an Assassidad. It seemed to tickle him marrying those two words.

Her father held little back about his life when she was young. Everard learnt pretty quickly about life and death. He told her without preamble that he'd killed her mother the day she was born. She had asked him why and he told her that he only needed her mother to give Everard to him. Once she'd done that she wouldn't have let him keep Everard. She asked why they couldn't have shared and her father laughed heartily.

"I don't share anything," he explained, scooping Everard up into a hug.

Curtis more or less raised her alone, though he had to be an Assassidad and leave for a while. Everard got left in very expensive care away from home, with strict orders not to tell anyone about his job as an assassin under the threat he would kill anyone she told. It kept her in line. She didn't want people to end up like her mother; an obstacle for her father to eliminate.

For two years when Everard was small, another man lived with them. She didn't remember much – she was too young – apart from his dark and surly nature. Everard knew this man was different from the others; Curtis let no-one stay with them and get this close. This man had little to do with her – she only knew him as Mister Dan, who had a habit of ignoring her and leaving the room when he spotted her. He'd only remain when Curtis was there, usually teaching Everard something, or the rare occasions he'd watch cartoons with her. Then Mister Dan sat some distance away, talking only to Curtis, who sometimes answered him, but more often than not was talking to his daughter and ignored him.

And then when she was three, he mysteriously disappeared and she hopped into Father's lap.

"Where's Mister Dan?" Everard asked.

"I killed him," her father replied.

"Why?" she asked and he became matter-of-fact.

"Because he betrayed me."

"What's betrayed mean?"

"It means he hurt me very badly inside. In the heart and mind," he explained and she remembered getting upset and patting his face with worry.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He chuckled.

"I'm fine. He's gone now. He thought Daddy was a pushover because I'm soft with you."

When Everard was older she reflected that Dan clearly didn't understand the relationship between herself and her father very well. Protective didn't mean soft. Indulgent didn't mean soft. It was a lesson she would quickly learn.

Everard got teased a little at those super pricy childcare places she got left at when she was young because of her name: Everard Lindsay Blackburn. She didn't tell her father because she knew he would likely punish those children severely. Everard couldn't understand why he was so hostile with others while so lenient with her.

"Because you are my biological daughter and treasure. To hurt you is as hurting myself. So those that hurt you hurt me, and I tolerate no-one trying to hurt me," he said after several of the children who had teased Everard had been withdrawn from the childcare place due to horrific accidents. They hadn't died, but been scarred for life.

"How did you know?" she had asked with tear filled eyes. She was beside herself; She'd tried so hard not to give them away.

He pulled her into his lap, stroking her hair to calm her down.

"A father always knows when his precious child is upset," he softly replied, cuddling her close. It became an accepted reality of life. Everard simply adapted by remaining distant from almost everyone she came into contact with; she couldn't bear the thought of anyone getting hurt on her account. So most of her time was dedicated towards reading and absorbing as much information as possible. Curtis engendered her education; giving her books on things way ahead of what most children her age should have been learning. Everard was home schooled; the thought of going to a public or private school terrified her for multiple reasons. She was a social disaster, too shy and afraid to even attempt to make friends easily. So she was spared the torment and subsequent retribution her father would inevitably deliver and remained in her bizarre cocoon of the family house.

Everard learnt quickly which pleased her father. But once she got a little older, he began to train her in some of his strange abilities and she could barely follow. He was fast, dangerously so, and she was normal. The backyard became a place of torment and disappointment for Everard; she was too slow, too normal for Curtis' outdoor education. She could still picture her father's expression as she ran the gauntlet he'd set up; eyebrows drawn together, hands clasped in front of him, shoulders broad and straight with a stiffness to them of displeasure. His lips were rigid and eyes calculating.

"You've got to _feel_ it, Everard, flowing through you, pushing you onward through the course. You have to have confidence!" he exclaimed, as if confidence could be switched on and off like a light switch.

"I don't feel anything – I'm tired," she snapped, slowing to a stop before a large jump. She couldn't make the jump then at age nine, or at age eleven, or at age fifteen. For an ordinary human it was a near impossible jump. That jump became the stuff of nightmares for Everard, representing a physical and metaphorical unbridgeable gap.

The moment she stepped away from that course without trying, Curtis' hopes of Everard following in his footsteps extinguished. Even at age nine, she sensed an end had come to something. He didn't project an air of disappointment – he was too controlled and kind towards her than that – but a glimmer of it appeared in his eyes occasionally. Everard hated that look the most because she knew her fate with him was sealed. Their paths would diverge though, on reflection, that was for the best. As a child she didn't know that; all she knew was a vague feeling of ending and finality.

Everard cried when she walked away from that future. He told her she had all his strengths and all her mother's weaknesses. She wasn't sure what that made her. Then he scooped her up and told her not to worry about it. They went back to more traditional studies. Everard was more comfortable with algebra and literature than attempting to defy physics.

AN: Thanks to 37 for encouraging me to continue this! This is a pet project I just enjoy writing when I'm not working on other things, so I guess it's kinda a labour of love. A love of Killer7 and it's awesome universe! Enjoy!


	3. Education

**Chapter 3: Education**

Everard was home schooled for the majority of her life. It was easier that way. After being in day care where children got scarred for life if they so much as looked at her funny, being secluded set her at ease. Perhaps Curtis wanted it this way; always close and under his watchful eye. Her father was an excellent teacher. It was a shame he never put that talent to better use.

"Don't tempt me," he once said when she'd told him he should be a teacher. The ominous nature behind the words put that idea to bed. No matter what jobs he had – when she was a child he worked in various positions within the government, yet still also received contracts.

Everard quickly developed an affinity for mathematics. Numbers and formulae made clear logical sense to her in a way life never could. Her social abilities were permanently stunted. Literature also served as a nice escape, but mathematics was her absolute favourite. She took comfort in mathematics and literature. A good book or math problem could whip her away for a little while. Away from assassination, strange meetings, her closeted life. Everard was too afraid to think about having a real life outside of her father's household; it was too painful a dream, one she didn't believe could be realised.

But as she got older and her teenage hormones kicked in, a slightly rebellious streak began to break through. Everard was constricted and she desperately wanted even a sliver of freedom. So at age sixteen she finally broached the subject with her father, who nodded.

"If it's what you want, it shall be granted," he said and she found herself at a little bit of a loss.

"Really? There's no catch?" she warily asked and he had that look she knew too well.

"Well, naturally you must be watched. I cannot let anything befall my precious daughter." His smile was chilling. Everard sighed.

"I beg you to let me live my life."

"Of course. As long as you live it properly," he said, standing up. She knew what that meant: as long as she lived how he wanted her to live, how he envisioned his daughter's life.

But she took that fragment of freedom and nervously entered the public school system. It was overwhelming at first, the rush of people pressing in on her as she walked the corridors. On reflections, it was rather a sad affair. Although she'd been confident enough to ask to attend high school, even if it was only for two years, she was still too afraid to open up and attempt to make friends. The thought of one misstep resulting in a family's lives destroyed by her father prevented any serious interaction with anyone. Everard had a few acquaintances from her classes, but nothing more. She was in a bubble, unable to really touch anyone, even in a crowd. It was infinitely better than being cooped up in the house, though, left to warp socially.

Curtis drove Everard to and from school most of the time. There were times where he had assassinations or whatever to perform that meant he couldn't be there all the time. Curtis had an old brown Chevrolet and he took great pleasure in driving her to and from school like a father would. Sometimes it felt like Curtis did things because that was what he'd read in a book. People always gave Curtis, and by association Everard, curious looks as he dropped her off. He still wore his rather flamboyant outfits. There were rumours he was her gay father, which thankfully he found amusing rather than something worthy of punishment.

"Let them think that. They couldn't even imagine the truth if they stared at it down the barrel of my gun," he snorted. Everard marginally relaxed.

She did well at school, getting excellent grades. It was only years later that she really realised she could have studied anywhere in the world, but instead went to Seattle University. Being coddled her whole life had its impact. The world was humongous to her – Seattle alone was a massive urban jungle she'd never explored. Curtis took her out on some trips as a child, but nothing outside of Washington. She'd never been out in the world by herself. As a result, she was afraid to venture out. She thought her father was happy it was this way. The easier it was to keep eyes on her, the better, in his opinion.

Seattle University was a refreshing experience for Everard. She was more confident than ever, happier to talk to others. Her peer group were more mature, less likely to pull silly stunts that would result in Curtis' intervention.

"Everard, I will no longer intervene," he told me in my first week at university. It felt like a great weight had lifted off Everard's shoulders.

"Really, Father?" she asked, the hopeful notes in her voice painful to listen to. She sounded pathetic.

Curtis nodded.

"You will still be watched, of course, but you should have the ability to choose what to do with those I would have otherwise put out of commission myself."

"Thank you, Father. This means a lot to me," she practically squealed, hugging him tight. He gave that soft warm smile Everard didn't see often enough as he hugged her back.

"Good. But always feel free to call upon me should things become too much."

She nodded, but she knew she would never resort to such a thing.

Everard felt freer than ever, and studying what she loved – Mathematics. She started to pull away as gently as possible. She could have commuted from the house to university, but chose to live in halls, visiting Curtis on the weekends.

Life was opening up for Everard. University was a joyful experience. She even made a few friends, to her relief. She got to go out into Seattle unimpeded and see it for herself. There were so many sights and sounds she'd missed out on over the years.

However, there was one sight Everard never expected to see again.


	4. Ghost

**Chapter 4: Ghost**

Everard walked out of the Bannan Science Building into the Quad. It was a nice day, nice enough for her to sit outside in the Quad and write up a few notes before heading off. She was halfway through her degree and still in love with Mathematics, to her delight.

As she sat down and pulled out her notebook, a figure stuck out in her peripheral vision. He was a dark haired surly looking man stalking across campus towards her. Having an assassin for a father meant Everard was fairly competent at recognising his kind. This man was like Curtis. As he came over, she briefly froze with uncertainty. If she was lucky he was either an associate of Curtis, though she knew he shared the existence of her with next to no-one, or someone her father had sent to keep an eye on her. Door number three – an enemy of her father – wasn't something she liked to dwell on. Yet as Everard looked at this man, something about him looked familiar. She stood up as he approached.

"You grew up in a hurry," he started, she supposed as a way of introduction. Up close, paired up with those words, Everard's memory chillingly snapped into place. Cold, dark eyes, black side-parted slightly messy hair with sideburns, full lips, odd nose, like it had been broken a few times, a perpetual pissed off look... he hadn't aged a day.

"You're Dan? But my father…" she trailed, my body going cold.

"Killed me?" he finished, which she had no idea what she was supposed to make of.

"He's not the kind of guy who doesn't finish a job," Everard managed to whisper and Dan smirked.

"No, he isn't."

She could tell he was enjoying her uncertainty and fear.

"You betrayed him."

His nostrils flared as he scowled.

"Pedro Montana betrayed him and pinned it on me."

She gave a nervous shrug. She felt like her eyes were too wide, that she must look freaked out, but no-one took any notice of them.

"How do I know you're telling the truth? And what does any of this have to do with me?"

"You don't. You're a dumb kid with a powerful father. One I'm going to make miserable." He looked satisfied at his statement of intent. Everard began to feel sick. Desperation began to claw at her, choking the air she was trying to inhale.

"There are people everywhere. I could scream for help," she responded.

He leaned closer, casually slinging an arm across Everard's shoulder as if they were friends, though his expression wasn't the least friendly. His fingers dug in a little.

"You do that, and a lot of people are gonna get real dead," he said in a low voice, with a gritted teeth smile. Everard froze, unable to think. Dan used this moment to start walking with her off the main campus. He'd played upon her fear of others getting hurt because of her without a second thought. She wondered if he knew what a weak spot it was for her. Everard didn't underestimate his ability to dig into her past.

A minute's walk later and they were at a nondescript car with tinted windows. She started to quaver.

"W-where are we going?" She stammered. Panic slammed in her heart and she started to struggle against the arm around her shoulder. His grip tightened a lot and Everard froze again. His lips were close to her ear.

"Keep still, Everard. You are something to rattle Daddy dearest's cage. So play along and this'll all be over soon. Now get in the car," he whispered, lips tickling her ear. She shuddered and he laughed, leaning back to open the car door. Without a word, she climbed in, praying her father could find her in one piece.

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><p>Everard had no idea where he was taking her. She wasn't particularly good with directions, and had been so coddled that she still got nervous on the ten minute journey from her father's house to the university campus. She'd never left the Seattle area. It seemed to Everard like they drove for hours, but her perception of time was confused. A five minute ride blindfolded with a former murdered associate of, and by, her father would feel like an eternity.<p>

"Are you going to kill me?"

"And where would the fun be in that?" he countered and Everard felt sick all over again. This was the man mentored by her father. She was too young to know too much about Dan Smith, though, beyond what she'd seen and Curtis' briefly relayed post-mortem. However, Curtis trusted no-one completely; perhaps he hid a few tricks up his sleeve and saved the best for himself.

"I don't know. I'm a mathematician, not an assassin."

Dan snorted, glancing at Everard.

"Mathematics? Really? Curtis' kid has even less of a life than him."

"Shut up!" she snapped without thinking, but Dan just laughed.

"You do have a little bite to you. I thought you were gonna be no fun at all."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not your kind of fun," she ground out and he laughed again.

"Oh well we won't know until we try," he said in a husky voice that made something in the pit of Everard's stomach jump. This man was beyond dangerous.

Eventually he brought the car to a stop and took the blindfold off. His eyes were hard.

"Now we're going to go over a few ground rules. When we exit this car, you won't so much as open your mouth. You stay with me at all times. If you try to run or call for help – anything I deem out of bounds – I will punish you in ways that'll make you wish I'd kill you. Got it?" There were no games now.

"I understand." Fear swirled through Everard's veins, making her body quiver.

"Stay here," he commanded and got out of the car. He swiftly went to her side and opened the door. She mutely exited and once the car door was shut, Dan took a firm grip of her arm. She didn't recognise the area at all, though she didn't expect to. They were in a car park of some kind of marina. The sea looked ominous. A flash of Dan drowning her flitted through her mind and made her grip onto his arm. He tensed, glaring down at Everard, but his expression softened at her wide eyes staring back.

"Come along." And she followed, taking in as much as possible. Dan paid for some ferry tickets. She caught sight of a sign for Lummi Island. She knew they must be north of Seattle then, and not much north. The ferry was fairly full, though it was small. She quite liked sailing; Curtis' house backed onto the coast of Mercer Island and he owned a modest yacht. They had taken a few trips out on it, but neither she nor Curtis were habitual sailors. It was just another skill her father had learnt for the sake of learning, not utilising. A darker part of Everard believed he only learnt in case an assassination required sailing. Killing rose above all.

The wind whipped around them. Everard tried to angle her body so it didn't blast her in the face. Her eyes were watering from the blustery weather. Dan wrapped an arm around her, tucking her close to his body. He was seemingly completely unaffected by the weather. Everard was nice and warm against him. A traitorous frisson went through her. She swallowed, closed her eyes and tried to pretend it wasn't Dan. To the outside world, she thought they must look like an older man with his college girlfriend, enjoying a day out on Lummi Island.

"You're doing well," Dan whispered, brushing a hand through her wind tangled hair.

Everard looked up at him and he nodded. The satisfaction of control glinted in his eyes.

"You may talk."

"Gee, thanks," Everard sourly replied and Dan smirked.

"Enjoy the fresh air while it lasts. It might take your father a long time to find us."

"Lummi Island? I don't think so," she snorted.

"You'd be amazed what can be done in that time."

His words resonated through Everard guiltily.


	5. Dispute

**Chapter 5: Dispute**

Once they were off the ferry, Dan still held on to Everard, though not as tightly as before. There was a light shower of rain as they walked off the boat and along a road. Everard was starting to get cold in her knee length skirt, blouse and cardigan. She wished she'd had a coat on when she'd been kidnapped. They didn't walk for long, luckily. A hotel was just down the street and Dan smoothly did the talking while Everard stood trying not to shiver.

The room was nice and serviceable. Dan didn't spin any tales while he acquired the room. He'd slid back from somewhat jovial to serious again. It set her on edge. She nervously perched on the edge of the bed, arms tightly folded.

"I can't believe Curtis Blackburn raised such a subservient child," he started with a disbelieving spiteful laugh.

"Excuse me?" she snapped and Dan bared his teeth in some approximation of a smile.

"You just let me kidnap you without so much as a 'fuck you'. Your father must be disappointed."

Everard balled her fists. The tension was thick in the air.

"You threatened to kill everyone in the vicinity! And perhaps you two wouldn't give a damn about that, but I do!"

"Well, if you're so caring and sharing, how about telling me what he's been up to for the past few years? Any weak points I've missed since he gunned me down?"

"No! I'm not saying anything," she firmly replied with a glare. Dan shrugged, leaning against a wall as if he commonly chatted with girls he kidnapped.

"Curtis Blackburn is the scourge of this planet. What does it matter what you say about him? Surely a little update since I've been dead would do no harm." His cynicism was not lost on her.

"Of course I know my father is monstrous – I've known him my whole life. But I also know that there's a reasonable side to him, that there are things he cares about. And anyway, you're no angel yourself. You can't talk me into betraying him."

"You don't know anything about me." He didn't sound angry, but he gave her a sharp look.

"But you think you know enough about me that I'd cave about my father?"

"I would have thought Curtis did a terrible job of raising you."

"Assassins can be fathers, mothers. He raised me well, gave me everything I needed and more. I'm a spoilt child."

Dan snorted.

"At least you know where you stand."

Everard looked Dan in the eyes. They were cool, but without the level of detachment she expected. A part of him couldn't quite treat her like nothing, which relieved her.

"So how am I meant to rattle my father's cage? Even if he's capable of being rattled, he's going to get angry. And when that happens, people start disappearing. I don't want to be responsible for that."

"You're not; I am. And I don't give a fuck. He ain't gonna make me disappear."

"But he'll try. You won't win."

"Really?" Dan's eyebrow shot up, "A fifty year old man is going to beat on me?"

"Experience counts for a lot." Everard had no idea if this was true in the assassin business, but she decided she had to try and win this argument anyway.

Dan folded his arms and smirked.

"Well I have just as much experience and I'm physically younger, so I think I still come out on top logistically, Miss Mathematics."

Everard folded, flopping back on the bed.

"Fine, whatever. I just want to get this over with."

Suddenly Dan was close by and Everard eyed him nervously. He leaned over her, face inches from hers.

"We still have time for fun. I think we're each other's kind of fun, don't you?" he whispered with a heavy lidded look that made Everard unconsciously lick her lips. In a flash, Dan's lips descended on Everard's and she didn't even want to resist. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, the bottoms of her palms feeling the motion of his jaw as they kissed. Everything was overflowing inside of her. Everard had had enough of her confined life, of being restrained. She just wanted to _feel_. Dan Smith hadn't kidnapped her; he'd freed her and now she was free to feel whatever she liked.

He pulled at her clothes and she tore at his. Her heart was pounding like a war drum, thundering through her body. She didn't stop to examine why she'd want someone like Dan Smith; she didn't want to. He was there and he knew her, he knew who her father was and he didn't give a fuck.

Both naked, Dan stood, gripped Everard under the calves, pulled her to him, entering her roughly, eliciting a gasp from Everard. He sucked in a breath at her tightness, briefly closing his eyes and muttering a curse before starting to move inside her, striking a fast and rough pace. Everard was gasping, writhing with pleasure in his grasp, hands entangling in the sheets. After several minutes, Dan wrapped her legs around his waist and reached out to her hands. Everard immediately grabbed him and he pulled her to him, picking her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Heat exploded between them pressed together, tongues passionately exploring one another. Dan carried her to the wall and began to strike a rhythm once more. Everard got louder while Dan grinned maniacally while grunting with each thrust.

Everard had never been fucked like this. The few boys she'd been intimate with in college had been soft affairs, and Everard could never completely give herself to them with the shadow of her father looming over her. But with Dan she felt strangely safe. This man knew everything her father was capable of. He'd been personally subjected to her father's darkness and come back for more. A part of her jumped at the notion she could only give herself to someone as deranged and vicious as her father. She would never get a normal life. Right then, she didn't care.

The sensation of Dan pounding into her, breaths ragged as they spurred on to ecstasy, was reaching a point beyond comprehension.

"Dan," she breathed as her muscles began to tighten.

"Fuck," Dan gasped as she squeezed his member, pushing him over the edge. He could hardly hold her up, so slung her back on the bed, swiftly moving to cover her body with his. Everard had her eyes closed in rapture as he entered her once more and resumed his swift pace. His fingers dug into her hips while she bucked them. And then everything came tumbling down, Dan coming with a groaning growl, Everard almost whining as she orgasmed. Like puppets with their strings cut, the two flopped; Dan briefly pressing down on her before rolling off with a satisfied sigh.

They lay in a warm muddy haze. A small corner of Everard's brain lamented that this was unlikely to ever happen again and did its best to memorise this encounter. It took several minutes of panting before the two began regaining their bearings. Reality came crashing back and fear jolted through Everard while Dan propped himself up and dug out a cigarette from the bedside table.

"That was…" Everard whispered, unsure how to approach the situation.

"Something you better not get used to," Dan grumbled, but reached over to brush hair from Everard's face. She presumed it was to check her expression, to make sure she understood. He didn't look harsh right then, still caught up in their post-coital reverie.

"I won't," she replied sleepily and curled up, pulling the covers over her naked form. Within a minute she was asleep.

Dan finished his cigarette, then looked over at Everard. He had done a good job at fucking his vengeance up. Though perhaps he'd made it that much sweeter. Daddy's girl had given him the time of his life. It had been two years since they'd been cut down, dispelled into a state of nothingness until Garcian had brought him back. He was the first persona resurrected and so had a fairly free reign while Garcian worked on the others. It gave Dan an opening, a chance to lash out at Curtis. He didn't really expect the daughter of Curtis Blackburn to be so… sane and normal and, well, pretty. No, he corrected himself, no normal sane person would willingly sleep with someone like him, who'd kidnapped her and told her he was going to kill her father. She was a far cry from what he was expecting – a mental case who was just as versed an assassin as her father. Instead she was studying mathematics. _Mathematics_. He snorted at what a stupid situation they were in. Everard shifted slightly in her sleep and he quieted.

This girl was all sorts of trouble. She knew what he was and still fucked him. It had made the sex that much more intense, that they knew what the other was and they didn't care. His member twitched at the thought of what they'd just done and Dan softly growled to himself, gritting his teeth. He couldn't pursue this, couldn't get any deeper. So he got up, went into the bathroom and pleasured himself while showering, the blast of hot water muffling his hushed groans.

He got dressed, armed himself again with his Colt and began mentally planning what action to take when Curtis tracked them down.


	6. Fury

**A/N:** Afraid updates will start to slow down in order to give myself time to forge ahead with future chapters. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 6: Fury**

The phone rang and Curtis picked it up, interrupted from the pile of paperwork on his desk.

"Your report is early," he snapped.

"_There is a problem."_

It was rare for Curtis to feel fear – some would say he was unable to experience such emotions – but it trickled down his spine at those words.

"Where is Everard?"

"_A man spoke to her and then she just disappeared. We can't track her at all."_

"Describe this man," he commanded.

"_He was dressed in a black suit, red shirt and white tie, had dark hair and eyes, long sideburns, angry face."_

Curtis' blood ran cold. He didn't even notice he'd stood up.

"When and where was Everard last seen?"

The man gave the time and address and Curtis was gone.

* * *

><p>To say all hell had broken loose was an understatement. Curtis hadn't felt so alive and terrified all at once. He wasn't sure whether he wanted it to go away or not. He armed himself to the teeth, readied his senses and headed to Everard's last known location.<p>

He'd always known Dan would one day return to get revenge once he'd heard the stories of the Hellion roaming the earth once more. If anyone knew how to claw his way back from hell, it would be that bastard.

With ease, he infiltrated the campus security centre and went over the security tapes of the last few hours. He paused the tape, closing his eyes with resignation. Dan Smith was looking up at the camera, broad smirk on his face. When Curtis un-paused the video, Dan gave a little wave before moving onto the main campus where Everard was. On the next security camera video, Curtis watched the two talk. The video was too grainy and distant to make too much out, but he could see Everard's stance was tense and that she was marched off by Dan, rather than going completely of her own accord. There were no cameras where he'd led her. Curtis had never felt so panicky.

"What are you up to, Danny-boy?" he muttered

He slipped out of the security room, leaving its unconscious occupants on the ground. He walked through the areas of campus Everard had walked with Dan, following the path they'd took out of the camera's sight. It led to Broadway. Curtis took out his phone and began making calls to certain people who kept their eyes out for activity.

Dan Smith would be the talk of the underground scene.

* * *

><p>Everard awoke to the sound of the television. Dan was half paying attention to the news, slouched in the only chair in the room near the dresser that was also a tiny kitchenette with an assortment of tea, coffee, sugar packets and an old looking kettle.<p>

She regained her bearings, remembering her and Dan's passionate interlude. Then she realised she was still naked under the sheets. Dan glanced over at her.

"You're awake. Looks like I did a good job with ya," he idly commented and Everard froze in horror. She dragged the sheets around her and picked her clothes dotted around the room up, Dan watching with a leer. She ignored him, shuffling by with her sheet and he made no move, attention back on the news. Once Everard was in the bathroom she chucked the sheet back into the room, her clothes now secured. She took a quick shower and got dressed. Her clothes didn't seem too rumpled, though she wished she had a few more outfits with her. Such are kidnappings.

The word 'kidnapping' seemed to fully sink in and Everard sighed. This was a weird situation to be in. And now she didn't know what was going to happen. Everard straightened. Well, she didn't have to sit around wondering.

She exited and threw the bed sheet back on the bed before sitting crossed legged on top of it, watching Dan.

"So what's the plan, Dan?" she asked with a smile and Dan narrowed his eyes, barely looking over at her.

"None of your business." His arms were sternly folded. Everard recognised someone trying to distance themselves from a situation. She'd probably looked like that on many occasions since she was a child.

"I'm part of this kidnapping, and it's not like I have any way of communicating with anyone your nefarious plans so you might as well tell me so I'm prepared," she suggested.

"I don't want you to be prepared. I want you scared." He bared his teeth at that, but Everard showed nothing.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have had such great sex with me, then. I'd have been more scared if it had been bad," she flatly replied and Dan laughed.

"You need to act like this more often."

"Under the right circumstances I enjoy being snarky. Such as jerks who won't tell me what the hell is going to happen."

Dan leaned back in his chair, eyeing Everard.

"What do you think will happen?"

Everard's eyes lost focus as she mulled over possible scenarios.

"I think the most likely outcome will be that my father will track you down. The two of you will fight and my father will try to protect me, otherwise he wouldn't bother coming at all. Someone will die. And I will either return home, be killed or I won't return home. That's my current theory. Maybe there will be some talking. My father loves to talk."

"Not to me," Dan countered and Everard shrugged.

"Then to me."

"Sure, whatever makes you feel better," Dan said with a shrug.

There was a pause while Everard turned over some questions she was less certain about asking.

"Will you use me as a hostage?"

Dan nodded.

"There would be no point to you being here, otherwise. I'm banking on him wanting you alive."

"Would you kill me to spite him?"

Dan gave her a hard look.

"Do you really want to know the answers to these questions?"

"I've been around death since I was a child. My mother was killed by my father the day I was born. I'd rather live, but I understand that people die pointlessly every second of every day."

A flicker of respect passed across Dan's face and satisfaction warmed Everard's heart.

"Honestly? If I have to. But at the end of the day, killing you doesn't kill him. You're the bait. Live bait is always better."

"Thank you," Everard said, slightly inclining her head, "I like candidness in a man."

"Well don't get used to it. Our time together will be over soon."

Everard didn't miss the ember of desire that briefly appeared on his face. She stored the information for when it got dark.

"Fair enough."

For now, Everard joined Dan in watching the television.

* * *

><p>Curtis drove north after gathering many accounts of Dan Smith on the move. All indications pointed north of Seattle. He wasn't much of a driver – he preferred to be chauffeured – but owned one car, a 1972 Chevrolet Biscayne as brown as the seventies, which he had used since Everard was born. Twenty years old, but he'd spent whatever it needed to keep going. He'd bought it solely to use for her, taking her to day care, school or trips out together – these things he did personally, because she was his daughter and he didn't trust anyone else. Those he had to put trust in were always closely monitored. Yet even with monitoring, his beloved daughter had fallen into the clutches of his primary adversary. He had heard the reports of Dan being amongst the Killer7, but he'd also heard they been gunned down two years previously and nearly completely obliterated. A dark part of him tussled over not being the one to gun Dan down again and had hoped he was still alive (or as much as any of the Killer7 can be considered alive) so he could do the job himself. But the opportunity wasn't nearly as sweet with Everard involved. Now it was messy and terrifying and exciting and horrifying. If anything happened to Everard… it made his chest tighten. He'd never had something to lose, something important that he would do anything to get back safely, until he had Everard.<p>

The trail of sightings halted around Bellingham, roughly a two hour drive from the centre of Seattle. It was miniscule compared to Seattle, but large enough that Curtis couldn't exactly search the whole place in a day. There were lowlifes who could, though. In a few quick calls he sent the underworld crawling all over Bellingham like rats to garbage.

Seattle and its outlying areas were his to do with what he will. Dan was taunting him by not even attempting to escape Curtis' kingdom. He must still be an arrogant bastard, Curtis had no doubt.

His mind wandered as he travelled along the freeway, settling on when Dan had first been sent to him. He was a just a killer back then, lacking premeditation skills that meant he had a habit of sloppiness. Dan had no scope for the grand picture; only the kill that lay before him. Harman wanted an assassin and Curtis obliged. They had been the same age, but come from entirely dissonant backgrounds. Curtis had clawed his way up, his unusual abilities smoothing the path a little. Dan had a relatively easy time, brutal personality and some dark connections that had brought him the title of 'Hellion'. Each had no love of being thrown together at the behest of those they served, but the trading of information quickly became addictive. Curtis imagined it was how exchange students must feel; rapidly assimilating a new culture while simultaneously presenting and representing your own. They both had been born to be assassins. People like themselves don't choose to be assassins; it was deigned from their very first breath.

Together they had crushed everything in their path in Seattle. Together they had sent the message: _We_ lead _you_, so starting fucking bowing and grovelling. The ones who lived, anyway. It was a free spirited slaughter, a joyful massacre. Assassins only found beauty in raining the bloodiest of carnage.

Although they were the same age, Curtis had started much younger, had been elevated to higher positions, and had more connections than Dan did. It had been strange at first mentoring someone his own age, but necessary. Though Dan would hate to admit it as much as Curtis, they did become close; it was why gunning him down had hurt so much. He'd let him get too close, given him too much. After the betrayal, Curtis couldn't believe he'd ever let Dan in his house, near Everard. Not that Dan showed the slightest interest in his house or child. He only came to discuss matters and train with Curtis. Curtis never asked what Dan thought about his life, his child. He had a terrible feeling afterwards that killing Dan felt like a dark shadow of how it would feel to kill Everard; that horrendous love and hate choking you, the bitterness of betrayal, the crack of your heart breaking… to give them so much and for it to end so pointlessly. He'd brooded over his actions for a long time afterward, but had never completely eased his conscience. His paranoia increased tenfold. He couldn't blame Dan for kidnapping Everard in order to seek revenge. He would have done much, much worse if their roles were reversed. Everard would be a severed head, proudly displayed somewhere sentimental to him, or simply callously thrown in front of him. Mercy was a foreign word that simply meant 'thank you'.

Curtis' phone rang and he picked it up. Mobile phones really were technology of the future.

"You better have an address."

"At first we thought he hid in Bellingham, but I got a few eyes who saw him take a girl on a ferry at Fishermans Cove over to Lummi."

"And?"

"Try the hotel near the corner of Tuttle and Centerview."

"You'll get your money when I'm done. Express delivery."

"Thank you, sir."

Curtis cut the call.

He had a boat to catch.

* * *

><p>The waiting was making Everard anxious. She knew it wouldn't take her father very long to be informed of her kidnapping, but she wondered how long it would take for him to track them down. Dan was more patient than she thought he'd be; leaning up against the wall, gun in hand.<p>

It was a couple of hours before anything happened. Everard had been sitting on the edge of the bed, nibbling a thumb nail when suddenly the door burst open and a blur entered, bouncing all over the place. Dan began shooting as indiscriminately as he was swearing and the blur careened into Everard, who gasped, the wind knocked out of her. In the next moment as she was trying to catch her breath, the blur propelled her out of the window. The familiar grip of her father was the only thing that identified him to her as they fell through the air with shattered glass surrounding them. She gripped him tight and squeezed her eyes shut. One arm loosened around her and she heard a gun go off repeatedly, nearly deafening her. And in the next moment, they hit the ground, Curtis landing on his feet, roughly holding Everard under one arm as she tried to gasp for breath, her shoes scraping on the ground. The ringing in her ears started to fade and she could just hear Dan swearing and yelling before more gunfire went off. In a blink of an eye she was bundled into her father's car and he drove off as fast as possible. Everard found she was crying, completely in shock.

"Are you all right, Everard? Did he hurt you in any way?" Curtis demanded as he swerved around a corner.

Everard could finally breathe, but couldn't stop herself shaking.

"No, I... I was just bait to him. Thank you for coming for me, Father."

Curtis briefly glanced at her, grey eyes implacable.

"There was no question, Everard. You are my precious daughter. There's a speedboat waiting for us at the harbour. We need to get back home fast."

"Without his bait and fighting on his own terms, he won't approach anytime soon," Everard asserted and Curtis nodded.

"Very good. But I have no intention of relaxing just yet."

A question rose in her mind.

"Didn't you want to kill him again?"

"Of course. But not while you're around. I'll deal with him later."

Their journey home was swift and near silent. Curtis wouldn't let Everard out of his sight. But Dan didn't pursue them to the best of Curtis' knowledge, which was unparalleled.

Once back at the Blackburn Estate, Curtis refused to let her go to her classes unprotected. He came with her to every class, stony faced and silent while Everard tried to ease herself back into her routine. She wrote copious notes during her lectures, of which her father only took a mild interest in. After two weeks he finally relented, though emphasized she was still under watch, which was no news to her. She'd been under her father, or someone's watch in Curtis' employ, since the day she was born.

For a time, things settled.


	7. Resonance

**Chapter 7: Resonance**

She didn't see Dan for months and didn't really expect to. Her father seemed determined to keep an even better track of her than he had previously, to the point it was obvious to her who he'd sent to keep watch. That, or she was getting more paranoid since the kidnapping. She didn't undervalue either theory.

What surprised her most was the fact her father made no obvious move to hunt Dan down. It made her wonder if Dan had been right and he could kill her father, yet it was almost unheard of her father backing down from anyone or anything.

And amongst all this turmoil, Everard still hadn't sorted out her feelings regarding the kidnap. Sometimes she dreamed of Dan; in some he was a lover and in others a figure of fear. One thing she did believe was that he was unlikely to hurt her. Potentially torture her, quite possibly. But perhaps if that elusive third option was presented once more, he would take it. She was sure he preferred fucking her blind to killing her. She wasn't sure about the torture. Perhaps that would be part of his play.

She'd done her research once she'd got home. First she had tried asking Curtis to no avail.

"You will never be troubled by Dan Smith again," Curtis coldly promised and Everard had to let it go. It didn't stop her doing her own investigation. There were talks of the mysterious assassin collective known as the Killer7. Accounts were confusing. They were both seven people and one person all at once. Or had been seven people and now were seven in one? It was hard to gain this kind of information. But what people did know of the Killer7 was if someone contracted them to kill someone, that person would die. Each had their unique abilities that lent to their profession. A man named Harman Smith led them. But beyond that, Everard knew little else. It was frustrating, but she let it be and returned her focus on Mathematics.

Things finally settled down and in lieu of the event, she found herself wanting to spend more time with her father. She knew he loved her in his own way, but his rescue of her without even trying to take out Dan made her realise how much he cared about her. Curtis seemed pleased with her newfound desire to talk and spend time with him. They walked the house grounds, reminiscing or discussing what Everard was studying. He cooked her a dinner before she returned to campus. Curtis would talk about what new pursuits he was indulging, including renovating the holiday house he owned down south near the national park. It was a shaky, brave new world.

Months began to tick by and Everard fully settled back into things. Her degree was going well, though she was being asked to consider what career to work towards.

"The government needs people like you, Everard," Curtis told her and Everard blanched.

"I... I don't think I could," she stammered. Her knowledge of the government in relation to her father was enough to put her off for life.

"I think I'd like to teach," she eventually offered and Curtis smiled.

"That would suit you more, Everard."

So she began looking into teaching courses. High school or university level education was her preference. And then one day she was sitting in the library when a black haired person caught her attention. His dark eyes bored into hers as he walked up to her table, placed a card onto her table and walked off with a smirk. And no-one began running after him or making desperate phone calls.

She had no idea how he got this close again. Her father had made it abundantly clear he had as many eyes as he could on her. Where were they now?

Her hand shakily reached out and picked the card up. On it was a hotel and room number. Was this a trap, or was he bolder than she could possibly conceive? And yet... and yet her mind immediately returned to their tryst. Even worse, Everard found herself curious rather than afraid. Perhaps option number three was more viable than she realised.

She sat at the table in the library for some time before putting her books away and leaving in a daze. She returned to her room, got changed and sat on her bed. Her mind was in disarray, but still she knew what she wanted to do, against all reason.

So against her better judgment, she got up and headed to the hotel on the card.

* * *

><p>The hotel was an expensive one in downtown Seattle, right near the water. It didn't fit in with her image of Dan at all. Everard cautiously entered the lift and punched the button for the fifth floor. Once outside the door written on the card, Everard softly knocked.<p>

The door opened, but no-one presented themselves. Everard froze.

"You alone?"

She'd recognise that gruff voice anywhere.

"Yes," she steadily replied and the door opened a little wider. She slowly crossed the threshold and the door shut behind her. She turned and Dan was in front of her. He hadn't changed a bit, smirk and all.

"It's been a while," Everard managed to calmly start. Seeing him look relaxed and unarmed had settled her down a bit. He was in his suit trousers and a vest. As Everard moved further into the room, she saw his shirt, jacket and tie thrown carelessly on a chair.

"I'm surprised you came," he replied, amusement touching his voice.

"I surprised myself. But I had to know," she honestly answered. Her body wanted to know him all over again, regardless of her brain's concerns. She couldn't get him out of her mind now she knew he wanted to see her again.

Dan's eyebrow quirked.

"Had to know what?" he huskily asked, stalking closer to Everard like a big cat.

"Why?"

Dan's smirk grew. Everard found her back nearly touching the far wall and stopped moving, letting Dan get closer. She felt like sparks should be crackling around them, the air was so thick with sexual tension.

"I remember you took 'know thy enemy' a little far, hmm?" Dan crooned, ignoring her question. Everard gently shook her head, meeting his dark eyes with her grey ones.

"You never were my enemy. If every enemy of my father's was mine, I wouldn't have enough time in the day to get on with my life."

"Curtis was good at hiding you. Except from me, of course. His greatest mistake."

"Why are you here?" she reiterated, "Because if it's about my father, I don't want to know."

Dan leaned in, his breath caressing her cheek.

"And if it wasn't?"

A smile curved onto Everard's lips.

"Then I'm all ears," she whispered and Dan placed a kiss just under her ear, making her lightly shudder. She could feel her underwear begin to get wet.

She knew she was walking into a lion's jaws, but she just couldn't resist. With so few people in this world who understood her situation, having Dan in her life was strangely comforting. No-one at college had a clue about her family's dark history. She worried she would end up having to live in that dark world for the rest of her life. Carrying on with Dan was a risky proposition. By nature of him knowing her family's history meant he himself was entrenched in that dark world.

But at this moment, with his lips trailing down her neck as his hands deftly undid her blouse, she didn't care. Her arms wound their way into his hair, lightly pulling on it before her hands descended to the bottom of his vest and began pulling it up. Dan let her go briefly to shirk his vest off before resuming his ministrations, hand sliding under her skirt and up her thigh to press against her now slick clitoris, eliciting a breathy moan from Everard. He was just as passionate and unyielding as she remembered. Soon enough, her underwear was torn away and Dan had swiftly removed his remaining clothes before thrusting against her.

"Come here," Everard found herself commanding, surprised at her confidence in the presence of a trained assassin. But Dan merely smirked and pulled her over to the bed. She fell back and Dan gripped her legs, making sure to push into as leisurely as he could manage, making Everard squirm and spur him on. His self control soon deteriorated and he covered her with his body, his kisses as fierce as his pace inside of her. Everard could hardly comprehend what was happening; all she could do was feel while trying to match Dan's pace. This man made her feel alive.

Dan held her legs again, angling himself so he went even deeper and Everard lost it, She came nearly screaming, making Dan grin down at her. He kept going, but not for long as Everard tightening like crazy around him sent him over the edge.

He rolled off of Everard, but pulled her with him, letting her rest against his side, one of her legs hooked over one of his. She took a moment to take him in; he was handsome, in a rough, manly way. His nose was a little on the broken side; it made Everard wonder how many fights he'd got into over the years. His hair was jet black and his eyes almost matched, but were perhaps a few shades lighter. His full lips always sat so he looked grumpy, bar when he smirked. But what drew her attention the most, something she only filed into the back of her mind the first time around, was the tattoo on his shoulder. On closer inspection it was a stylised angry looking dog surrounded by four blood red flowers. It was a strange design, one she would have liked to ask Dan about, but felt she couldn't. Despite their connection, Everard wasn't sure really where they stood. Could she be content with drifting from hotel to hotel to fuck? She wasn't sure whether that lifestyle fit her nature. But she supposed the only way she would find out where they stood was to do as she wished. So she reached out and gently put a hand on his tattoo, to which Dan immediately put his hand over hers, gripping it not painfully, but awfully tight. He looked over to her, eyes dark and unreadable.

"This is where the questions begin, huh," he grumbled, letting her hand go in favour of reaching over and fishing out a cigarette. He lit up, but remained in place.

"It's natural to be curious of someone you sleep with," Everard pointed out, the smell of smoke irritating her nose, and Dan snorted.

"I guess. The tattoo is old and I don't care for it much. Let's leave it at that," he replied and Everard contented herself with his answer.

"Do you like being an assassin?" she finally asked, then raised a hand, "Last question, promise."

He regarded her for a while, making Everard nervous.

"What do you want me to say? That I revel in killing? That I enjoy my job immensely? That being in an elite assassination team makes me proud, even if I hate a lot of my team members?" he shot back and Everard shrugged.

"I just want to know the truth. If that's how you feel then that's how you feel. People living and dying at the mercy of assassins is strangely normal for me. I feel I should hurt more over it, but... I don't. That dark part my father raised in me rather well, even if I don't agree with my father."

Dan put his fingers under Everard's chin, turning her face to him.

"One ground rule if we're gonna keep this up: don't ever talk about Curtis Blackburn," he practically purred, eyes narrowed.

Everard just nodded and Dan kissed her deeply, his tongue languidly tangling with hers. It was a little information, but for now it was enough for Everard. Dan Smith was not someone who could simply be cracked open and all his secrets poured out. Everard had already accepted it was unlikely she would ever know everything about Dan. It was a price she was willing to pay.


	8. Trace

**Chapter 8: Trace**

Her meetings with Dan weren't as frequent as she liked, but always satisfying. He was gruff, but usually softened a little towards the end of their encounters and allowed some conversation to take place. She was mindful about not discussing her family, instead mentioning her classes a little. Dan was the only really exciting thing in her life. She had a few friends, but all through her life she kept people at a distance for their own safety. If someone died at her father's hands through knowing her, she didn't think she could live with herself.

Two years slipped by in a blur of college, trysts with Dan and spending more time venturing outside the city bounds.

But the most important thing that began to eat up her spare time was her starting to wonder about her mother's side of the family. She'd been constricted by her father's legacy, however she knew little to nothing about her mother, beyond her father killed her. As a child, there was a strange logic to his story, but as she'd got older and more socialised, the story began to warp into something horrifying.

She concluded she couldn't ask her father about the woman she only knew as Lindsay Emma Beckett. Everard was pretty sure that her father didn't have anything of her mother's in his house, and to be honest, she knew if he did she didn't dare go and inquire about. Trying to go and find this hypothetical possession of her mother's was completely out of the question.

In the meantime while Everard pondered over what she should do about finding out more about her mother and her family, she enrolled in an education course, which finally would allow her to teach high school mathematics. She quickly discovered she really enjoyed the course and absorbed every scrap of information like a sponge.

She was having so much fun learning how to teach, she nearly stopped working on finding out more about her mother entirely. But six months into the course, Everard finally set aside time to look into her family.

Everard started with finding her mother's birth certificate. It took time; she had no idea where her mother was born, but she did have her full name and a rough time she would have been born. Eventually a record with promise turned up. A woman, born in St. Cloud, Minnesota, 1953. Everard did the math and her mouth fell open. Her mother died aged nineteen, younger than she was now at twenty-three. Something gripped Everard's heart - panic, horror, sorrow - and she found herself crying. When she was younger she never missed or really thought about her mother; she wasn't real to Everard. Somehow seeing a birth certificate began to ground Lindsay Emma Beckett in reality.

All Everard knew now was that she had to find a photograph of her mother.

* * *

><p>Despite the near clawing desperation to see what her mother looked like, she still had to contend with studying and day to day life. She still visited her father, though not as often. She was busy, but also she simply felt herself drifting away a little from her father while she was engrossed in seeking information about her mother. Although she wouldn't be alive without her father, her mother may have lived without him in her life.<p>

Even though she was busy, finally a few months later Everard had an opening. She hoped any of her father's lackeys wouldn't report her going into newspaper records, as she had no idea how she could possibly connect it to her education course.

Sure enough in 1972, there was a news report on a missing college girl. Nineteen years old, a resident of Minnesota studying at Seattle University. There was a picture, though in was in newspaper print and black and white. Still, it was something. The woman she was looking at was a stranger, yet familiar. There were certainly touches of this woman in herself. She knew from her father that she looked more like him than this woman. Now she knew he hadn't lied. The description in the paper said Lindsay had blonde hair and brown eyes. Everard had inherited her father's grey eyes and brown hair before he went white, though she could barely remember a time he didn't have white hair. She idly wondered if Dan remembered a time when her father had hair her colour. She couldn't talk to him either; her father was now and forever 'he who must not be named'.

The article continued, mentioning that her mother had one day up and left her dorm and never returned. She never notified her family or the university. No body had been recovered. As it turned out when Everard dug into more newspaper articles mentioning the search for her missing mother that a body was never found. Everard was not surprised. Her father was meticulous when it came to killing; when she was a teen and still under his tutelage trying to coax the abilities he possessed out of her, he also went over the basics steps of an assassination. Careful planning to ensure there was no trace of the assassins presence was more or less top of the list.

Finally, it named her mother had, at the time, living parents and a younger brother. Peter Beckett, sixteen at the time. Everard quickly did the calculations in her head. He would be about thirty-nine now

_'I have an uncle.'_

She didn't know how to feel. It wasn't just her and her father who were family. If her uncle was still alive. Perhaps even her grandparents still lived. A bud of excitement and fear began to grow in Everard. But soon her excitement was brought down to reality.

She couldn't call this man, her uncle, and potentially drag him into danger. Her conscience could never handle it. If her father thought she was leaving him for family she'd never met, she wasn't certain what he'd do. He had changed as he got older, but how precisely, she couldn't honestly answer. In some ways he was softer; in others he was harder. But she worried he would kill what was left of her mother's family should he feel threatened by them.

Everard finished her teacher training and finally got a start in teaching Mathematics in a local high school.

"Everard, your hard work has paid off. Are you happy?" Curtis asked her over a meal at his house. The house was oppressively quiet; it didn't have its usual peaceful vibe. Everard didn't know why she felt this way. She used to love this house and the safety it represented. Perhaps she was too grown and had seen too much of the world to get that feeling from the house anymore. Instead, she was given a certain amount of freedom in exchange. It was still worth it.

"I'm very happy, Father," Everard replied, "I can finally support myself and do what I like to do."

Her father smiled and nodded. Everard finished her meal and the two chatted for some time before she finally took her leave.

When she drove back to her apartment, she found herself wondering if she was missing something. Somehow, finding out she had more family hadn't satisfied her, yet meeting them was out of the question. She wasn't sure she would be satisfied even meeting them. So much time had passed, and there was so much she wouldn't be able to explain about her existence.

But still, she longed for family and a normalcy, even if she knew it wasn't achievable.

Teaching in a normal school with normal people would have to do for now.


End file.
